


Equipment Of My Heart

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: FAHC, GTA Universe, M/M, Multi, Robot AU, Robot Ryan, depictions of robot injury, robot Jeremy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 08:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15263847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: There's a shop by the desert road, where the sun casts mirages on the horizon and customers are always passing, never repeating, never local. Where the stars sweep into the same constellations and the belching smokestacks of city life aren't even a blip on the radar. Where the only trouble is sandstorms and dust and sweat stains on boiler suits.Where Ryan's found a home.Where he's finally complete.





	Equipment Of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from 'True To Life' by Röyksopp!

Geoff’s Auto was a quiet little shop on the side of Route 15, five miles down from the gas station. Poor planning, Geoff always said, because if someone wants a repair, they’ll need the gas immediately, but they all knew the oil lines were permanent. Should move the shop down to the station, Jack always said, but Geoff said it was a point of pride now – his shop was around before the pipes, and it’ll be there after the pipes.

Ryan didn’t really mind the garage so much. Sure, it was hot, and dusty, and oftentimes dryer than sandpaper, but he liked it. Geoff and Jack were good, easygoing guys, and always offering to take some of the weight of the work off of Ryan even though he was literally built for it. But they were kind, and they were friends instead of owners, so Ryan didn’t mind the work, happy to crawl under whichever car was in that day and tinker about until he fixed the problem, or dive elbow-deep into an engine to dig out a loose screw.

It wasn’t the most stimulating work around, but it was peaceful, and steady, and it gave Ryan a comfortable living, so he stayed. And anyway, there’s not much demand for auto robots outside of the industry, and Ryan’s seen the conditions of some of those places.

“You’re good to go,” Ryan says, slamming the hood of the car down and giving it a pat before pointing to Geoff across the floor. “See him ‘fore you leave.”

“Thank you,” the lady says with a polite smile and a nod before she strides off across the dirty concrete, her smart heels clicking sharply against it.

While she talks to Geoff, Ryan takes the chance to clean up his worktable, putting away the various spanners he had used and running a semi-clean rag around his fingers to clean off the oil, already caked in his plates. Hazard of the job, really.

A hand lands on Ryan’s shoulder, startling him a little, but it’s only Jack, grinning kindly at him. There’s ash streaked on his beard, his fingertips smudged with grime where they press into Ryan’s shirt. No matter, he’s already greased up to high heaven.

“How’s it goin’?” Jack asks.

“It’s okay,” Ryan replies, clicking his toolbox shut. “Mostly easy fixes.”

“That’s good. Not too hot out here?”

“Nah,” Ryan says, although he can hear his fans whirring high inside him. “How’s Ellie lookin’?”

Ellie, as Jack’s taken to calling it, is a Fireball 280 motorbike that Jack’s restoring, built up from basically scrap pieces. It’s impressive, the work he’s made on it, and Ryan reckons once they get the engine fitted in, it’ll almost be good to drive.

“She’s good, yeah, think I’ll need you to help me with the absorbers, but she’s looking real good. Should have her done by next month.”

“You’ll have to find a new hobby, then,” Ryan teases, glancing over at Jack.

“Well, good thing we live near a scrapyard,” Jack says, his eyes sparkling.

The scrapyard, about two miles out from their little shop, just spare metal parts dumped in the middle of the desert, sand-covered and boiling hot, is nothing short of a _wealth_ of materials for them. Hell, it’s how they fixed Ryan’s arm when he fucked it up fixing a Lambo. Not as good as the original, but good enough. He’d have called in to the factory for a replacement part, except they don’t make his model anymore, and any calls would have been met with an offer to buy the newer, upgraded robot. 

Thankfully for Ryan, both Geoff and Jack adamantly refused that option.

The sharp click of heels snaps their attention back to the customer, walking briskly back to her car with a receipt in hand and a friendly smile for Jack and Ryan.

“Have a nice day, miss,” Ryan says, lifting his hand in a polite wave.

“And you, too,” she replies, flashing another grin before she slides into her car and starts up the engine, smoothly backing out to the road and zooming away a moment later.

The dust cloud she kicks up hovers in the air for long minutes, and settles with the new silence of the garage.

“Well then,” Geoff declares from across the floor, standing up from his desk and stretching. “Almost closing.”

“Not for another half an hour!” Ryan calls, and Geoff waves him off.

“Eh, you know where to find me if you need me,” he says, laughing at the fond shake of Ryan’s head.

Despite that, Geoff makes his way over to them, sauntering along with his hands in his pockets and leaning casually against the table while Ryan picks oil flakes off of the grooves of his hands.

“So, what are you two nerds up to?” Geoff asks, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Fuck you,” Jack laughs, and Ryan chuckles with him, flicking one of the flakes at Geoff.

“Hey, who’s cooking dinner again?” Geoff says, playfully swatting Ryan’s shoulder.

“Not my dinner,” Ryan teases.

“Yeah, sorry, my specialty isn’t oil a lá screws,” Geoff says dryly.

Ryan snickers and Geoff moves on with a fond pat to his shoulder, dropping an affectionate kiss on Jack’s cheek before he disappears to the living areas, likely to start making dinner. The last half hour is rarely busy, and usually time for them to all wind down before shutting up, clean up any major messes, reset all the machinery.

And at five o’clock, after Ryan and Jack wheel the big warehouse doors shut and lock them up, they amble away into the living area, into their respective places. Sometimes Ryan joins them for dinner – although he can’t eat human food, but he likes the company, and he’s perfectly happy to just sit with them – and sometimes, on nights like these, when he knows that maybe Geoff’s planning a little special sort of something for Jack – have to celebrate anniversaries somehow, even if they do insist Ryan’s always welcome – on nights like these, Ryan heads up to the roof to watch the sky.

The desert is something close to beautiful out here, golden dunes stretching out as far as the eye can see, grand plateaus rising in the distance and, behind him, the road that stops by the auto shop winding away into the horizon. There’s no streetlamps, not this far out, so when the night blankets around him, it’s complete, only interrupted by the broken neons of the gas station five miles away and the warm yellow light glowing from the living area, bathing the sand outside in a gentle wash.

It’s quiet up here, in the summer nights, only the sound of far, far away engines and the occasional plane, the howl of distant wolves and the rush of the wind – but it’s cool enough for Ryan’s fans to slow, and stop, and the distinct whir-click of his machinery gradually halts the longer he sits still. He doesn’t have a heart, not like a human does, not beating, just a hunk of hot metal that keeps him conscious, but up here even that falls silent, a gentle thrum he can feel if he focuses.

But he doesn’t focus on it, because up here, amongst the silence of the twinkling stars, it’s home in a way Ryan never thought home could be, sat up on a cooling metal roof and watching the stars pop out above him, his software connecting constellations with sparkling lines that glimmer and fade, showing him all the patterns and tales that he knows by heart.

It’s peaceful, quiet, and Ryan thinks maybe it’s the closest thing to love he’ll ever know.

\-- 

The rumble of an engine breaks Ryan out of his half-doze at around midnight, the moon high and full above him as the engine growls and – and _clanks_ , and shudders like a restless beast. Ryan whirls around to stand, glances out at the road and sees a car struggling to drive down it, smoke  _pouring_ from its engine and the side dented up beyond repair.

Ryan’s moving in a _heartbeat_ , barrelling down the stairs and running right past Geoff’s and Jack’s room just as the broken, sputtering engine gives out with a loud _bang!_ , and then the sound of shouting reaches Ryan’s ears. He skids out onto the floor of the garage, hurries to fling open the double doors built into the big sliding ones – there’s people limping from the car, two men carrying what looks like a third between them, panic and concern written on their faces and in their sharp gestures, one of them nearly crumbling when the third guy keels forward but they manage to catch him –

And Ryan realises, in a hot little stab, that’s a _robot_ between them, not a man at all, and he’s clutching his chest, sparks flying out between his fingers as his friends urge him along the road – one of them spots Ryan, waves a hand and calls out, but Ryan can’t make out his words over the wind. He beckons them over anyway, torn between jogging out to help carry and ducking back in to set up a counter – he chooses the latter, since the trio seem to be making good progress, and quickly brings up a table, and tools, and plenty of rags for the oil trail the robot’s dripping behind him.

The big lights flick on with a grand shudder just as the trio enter, limping through the double doors and heading for the table – Ryan rushes forward to help, grunting as he takes the robot from them, urges him to stumble towards the counter and collapse on it, pushing him gently, but firmly onto his back. He’s shut off, his limbs still moving but his eyes closed, unlit – a safety measure, to stop the pain, and for there to be pain it has to be _bad_.

“Please, please, help him, we – we got into a crash and he – he – ” One man says, his hands trembling as he gestures to the robot.

“We can’t replace him,” the other says, clutching onto his friend’s arm to hold him back. “Please can you – can you fix him, we can’t afford – we don’t want to – ”

“Yeah, yeah, I can fix him,” Ryan says with a confidence he’s unsure of, running a hand through his hair before he turns to the robot, gently plucking the hand away from the chest to see the damage.

There’s a hole burnt right through him. One of the guys whimpers.

“What’re your names?” Ryan asks as he opens a toolbox, glancing briefly at the pair as he takes out a couple of iron cuffs.

“Gavin,” one says, the second one.

“Michael,” the other says, shoving his trembling hands into his pockets.

“That’s Jeremy,” Gavin adds. Ryan nods and takes one of Jeremy’s wrists to pin it to the table, pressing a cuff over it and drilling on either side of the cuff to attach it to the counter.

“I’m Ryan,” Ryan says, repeating the process with Jeremy’s other wrist, and then his ankles, pushing away torn bits of denim to get to them.

“What – What are you doing? You’re not – You’re not dismantling him, are you?” Gavin asks, concern creased between his eyebrows.

“No,” Ryan assures them. “It’s in case he wakes up, don’t want him to move while I’m in there.”

“O – Okay,” Gavin says, his voice thin and wavery.

“There’s seats over there,” Ryan replies, jerking a thumb at the chairs in the corner.

“No, we want to – we want to watch,” Michael says, his voice firmer than Gavin’s, but not by much.

“Okay,” Ryan says easily, and turns to Jeremy’s chest.

It’s ripped open in ugly pieces, a carnage that makes Ryan’s own chest ache in sympathy, burnt, twisted metal curling in on itself and sparks flying when Ryan touches what he soon realises is the remains of Jeremy’s heart, mostly still there but a huge chunk of it gone, oil leaking out over Ryan’s hands. One cylinder’s completely shot through, even more circuitry and wires melted together in a messy, sticky clump, but Ryan works as best he can, picking out debris and unnecessary parts while Michael and Gavin watch on, Jeremy’s oil dripping from their fingers.

He’s still alive, though, so Ryan counts that for a win.

He manages to find a spare cylinder in a box of assorted parts and gets to work replacing that – it’s not quite the right fit, not for Jeremy, but it’s close enough for now, it’ll get him functional again – and a few crudely twisted wires connect it back up to his heart.

And his heart. That’s the next part.

Ryan rips open a scorched panel to get to it, working his fingers down around mass of burnt metal to get to the core and re-wire it to his spinal cord – or, what passes for a spinal cord in robots, that connects the heart, or battery, to the brain, or CPU. Thankfully Jeremy’s head doesn’t seem to be damaged. Ryan tugs the core out a little to attach a wire, grunting as he twists it around to find the right port – and pauses, and squints, and re-reads the serial number on the bottom of the core.

_J3R3M-11_

An eleven bot. Ryan nearly drops the wires he’s holding, swallowing thickly as he looks up at Michael and Gavin.

“He’s out of date,” he says. That’s why they’re so worried about him, he’s the same as Ryan, no more replacement parts made for him.

That’s why Ryan doesn’t have a cylinder for him, could never, in fact, get a cylinder for him, because not only is he outdated, he’s a copbot – that’s what eleven bots are – and their parts are buried in so much red tape it’s not even worth trying to find one.

“Yeah,” Gavin says quietly.

“Can you fix him or not?” Michael asks brusquely, but Ryan just nods and coolly stares him down.

“I can do it,” he says. “Although if you want a full repair you’ll have to make the parts.”

“We can’t make those,” Gavin says. “I mean what – what are you puttin’ in ‘im now? Those are good enough, yeah?”

“Not for long-term,” Ryan says. “They’ll give out in under two months.”

Michael and Gavin exchange a worried look.

“I can make the parts,” Ryan offers. Gavin’s eyes flit to him but Michael’s face remains stern.

“Look, we can’t exactly _stay_ , okay,” Michael says, something fierce and protective in his voice. “Just fix him up and we’ll go. We’ll pay you for your troubles.”

“He’s not going to survive,” Ryan says.

“We can’t hang around,” Michael insists, a hidden meaning forced out between his gritted teeth.

Ryan connects the dots in no time, just like a constellation.

“You’re criminals,” he breathes. “You’re – You _stole_ him – ”

“No, no, we didn’t fucking _steal_ him,” Michael says. “He came with us. His choice.”

“So – So what, you’re – that car outside – ”

“Yeah,  _that’s_ stolen.”

“You can ask ‘im when he wakes up,” Gavin says, gesturing to Jeremy. 

Ryan connects the wire and swallows again, turning something over in his mind. He doesn’t think Geoff and Jack would exactly support housing delinquents, but.

But Jeremy’s not going to last with these makeshift parts. And it’s a little too close to Ryan’s own situation for him to just let it go.

“Stay here,” Ryan says. “While we fix him. Get the proper parts.”

The duo go silent.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Gavin mumbles.

“What – are you _serious_?” Michael hisses, turning to Gavin. “There’s no way they won’t turn us in!”

“I won’t,” Ryan says, but Michael and Gavin don’t seem to hear him.

“Well we can always bail,” Gavin says. “But he can fix Jeremy.”

“ _We_ can fix Jeremy. We just need to move on, find another mechanic.”

“But he’s right here, Michael – ”

“I don’t care, it’s too close, okay? We’re not even out of the damn _county_ yet, Gav.”

“There’s no guarantee we’ll find someone else willing to do it.”

“The damn cash is a guarantee – ”

“ _Michael_.” Gavin grips Michael by the arm, turns him more fully to face him. “Don’t risk Jeremy’s life for this.”

“I’m not – ”

“Let’s stay here, get ‘im fixed up, and go. I’m sure it won’t take too long, will it, Ryan?”

Ryan startles at the sound of his name, turning to the pair with wide eyes.

“Uh, no, it shouldn’t,” he agrees. “It’s only a few parts, and my friends can help – ”

“Friends? Nuh-uh, we’re not getting anyone else in on this,” Michael says immediately.

“Michael – ”

“It’s too dangerous, Gavin. We either deal with just the robot or no one – ”

“I have a name,” Ryan bites out. Michael snaps to attention, a flush creeping up his neck.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean – sorry, it’s habit,” he says, and Ryan nods in acknowledgement.

“Anyway, the other two live here, so if you’re staying, they’re knowing,” Ryan says, jabbing a screwdriver at Michael before he goes back to fiddling in Jeremy. “Sorry I can’t cut a better deal.”

There’s a long silence while Ryan screws Jeremy’s heart back together, cataloguing the quiet twitch of Jeremy\s fingers out of the corner of his eye with each invasive movement. There’s too many exposed nerve wires for it to be comfortable, not completely – Ryan knows the feeling – but he’s happy that at least Jeremy’s shutoff failsafe seems to be working.

While digging at a stubborn patch of burnt metal, Ryan glances up to see Michael and Gavin conversing in quick gestures, flashes of sign traded back and forth, but not in a sign language Ryan’s database can piece together.

“Okay,” Michael says slowly, turning from Gavin to look at Ryan. “You’re – You’re sure you can fix him? Properly?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, pulling out a welding iron and a plate to at least cover Jeremy a bit.

“They might sweep the area,” Gavin says. “Lookin’ for us.”

“We can cover you,” Ryan says, although he doesn’t know how much of that _we_ he can promise. Geoff and Jack might very well kick them out come morning.

“Promise?” Michael asks. Ryan swallows thickly.

“Promise.”


End file.
